


In His Best Interests (or The Miseducation of Harry Potter)

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-07
Updated: 2005-12-07
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Being on the side of good doesn't mean the law is, too.





	In His Best Interests (or The Miseducation of Harry Potter)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for Ponderosa for [Merry Smutmas 2004](http://www.livejournal.com/community/merry_smutmas). This is a bit outside of my normal writing, and one of my longest fics to date. ~10,000 words. **Warnings:** Non-con, bondage, spanking, docking, implied incest and threesomes.  


* * *

Suppressing his thousandth yawn in the last five minutes, Harry Potter ran the tip of his quill along his bottom lip, hoping the tickling would keep him awake. He tried to keep his spirits from flagging further by reminding himself that Christmas holidays began today. Of course, Snape was making the most of leading his last class before break, teaching the longest, most boring lecture in the history of the world, something about the proper usage of nettles in healing potions -- baby stuff, firstie stuff, hardly N.E.W.T.-level, which was exactly what this course _was_. Harry tried not cursing McGonagall for pulling strings in his favour -- Malfoy in Transfiguration for Harry in Potions -- knowing that she honestly did have his best interests at heart. 

Everyone did. That was the problem. That fact also had the habit of annoying him horribly. 

Snape, of course, proved to be the exception, which was small comfort when his distinct voice had taken on the most infuriating monotone, drawing out every syllable as though _determined_ to put Harry to sleep. 

Fuck. He'd dropped History of Magic for a _reason_ , and didn't fancy witnessing Snape's not-so-auspicious metamorphosis into Binns II. Bastard. Harry felt his head start to droop again. 

"Excuse me, Professor Snape?" 

Just as Harry was settling in for a long winter's nap, the Headmaster's voice suddenly interrupted Snape's lecture. Harry, whose nose was now an inch from the desk's wooden surface, felt his head snap up automatically. 

"Might I borrow Mr. Potter for the rest of the lesson?" 

Snape looked peeved, and Harry was quite convinced that that was because he'd no longer have the opportunity to inflict his own brand of passive torture on Harry. Not until holidays were over, at least. "If you must, Headmaster," Snape said through gritted teeth. 

"I do apologise, Severus, but a bit of a family crisis has arisen." 

"Family crisis?" drawled a snotty voice from the back of the classroom. The speaker sounded incredulous. "Wouldn't one have to _have_ a family to warrant that?" 

Harry didn't bother turning around; it was obvious that Draco Malfoy had decided to poke his pointy nose into Harry's business again. Predictable git. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on Professor Dumbledore, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, he thought he saw those familiar blue eyes harden the moment Malfoy spoke. 

But only for a moment. 

Harry blinked, and a split-second later with his eyes open again, Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling and kind, as to be expected. 

"Mister Malfoy," said Dumbledore thoughtfully, "perhaps you should come along. This concerns you as well." 

This time, Harry _did_ turn, seeing his own surprise reflected in Malfoy's expression. The whole class was watching them, and blushing madly, Harry swivelled around, becoming very interested in packing his things. As he went, he shrugged at Hermione, trying to convey that he had no idea what was going on. Ron wasn't in this class, but he assumed he could fill them in when he returned, before he said his good-byes, and sent them both off to the Burrow. Harry had opted to stay at Hogwarts this break, unwilling to witness the enviable Weasley togetherness for another year. 

Which brought him back to the family crisis he was supposedly having. Malfoy, Harry was loath to admit, had a point. One had to have a family to have a family crisis, and with Sirius gone, Harry had only the Dursleys. 

And _they_ were not his family, anymore than Draco Malfoy was. 

Things gathered, Harry and Malfoy exited after Professor Dumbledore, leaving Snape's classroom behind. 

***

The walk to the Headmaster's office was mostly silent, Harry bothered by the eerily echoing footsteps in the empty corridors. With most of the students still tucked away in their classrooms, the school was _creepy_ , even with Malfoy taking every opportunity to trip him up, or step on the back of his shoe. 

If this was Malfoy's idea of exacting revenge on Harry for landing his father in Azkaban, he was doing a piss-poor job of it. In response to Malfoy's antics, Harry only rolled his eyes, and jogged forward so he could match Professor Dumbledore's -- much longer --strides. Harry had found ignoring Malfoy was more effective than fighting him, and certainly more satisfying as it resulted in far fewer detentions and House points lost. Plus, it seemed to make Malfoy angry enough to spit, which was a source of great amusement for Harry. Pretending he didn't exist had become Harry's _de facto_ method of dealing now. 

When they reached the statue that marked the entrance to Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster softly intoned, "Pepper Imps," loud enough that Harry could hear him, but just out of Malfoy's earshot. Harry swelled with pride -- _Take that, you stuck up prat. You'll never have his trust._ \-- as he momentarily forgot that he'd never really forgiven Dumbledore for his role in Sirius's death. 

More silence as they ascended the moving spiral staircase, a silence that, if possible, became a _deafening_ silence when Harry and Malfoy saw who was waiting for them there. 

The visitor looked back. "Hello, Draco." 

"Mother," Draco replied with an air of forced neutrality, but he was obviously taken aback. 

"Happy Christmas, dear heart," said Narcissa Malfoy. With a crisp nod, she turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter. So glad that we've now had a chance to be formally introduced to one another. I am, of course, quite familiar with your public persona." 

"Hullo," Harry said dismissively, rounding on Dumbledore the moment the word left his lips. "What is _she_ doing here?" he hissed. "And what does this have to do with me? You said this was a family crisis -- _they_ \--" Harry said the word like the Malfoys were something nasty he'd stepped in. "-- are no family of mine." 

With a sigh, Professor Dumbledore walked around his desk and sat, looking tired and ancient. A shiver of dread ran the length of Harry's spine; it was _never_ good when Dumbledore looked like that. 

"Harry," he began plaintively, leaning on his elbows, and folding his hands under his snowy white beard, "Narcissa Malfoy _is_ your family. Not by blood," he added hastily, "but in the eyes of the law. I've been trying to prevent this since your godfather died --" 

Harry seethed, anger puncturing his confusion. He still refused to believe that Sirius was gone forever. He _couldn't_. 

"-- but the law is in Mrs. Malfoy's favour. I've been doing my best to delay the process; many people have. However, today our time ran out. Sirius didn't leave a will, a severe oversight on both of our parts, and as deemed by your parents, he was your guardian in the eyes of the Ministry, responsible for your well-being. _Because_ there is no will, all of his possessions -- and in the Wizarding World, this includes any minors in his care -- all of his possessions go to the closest kin found legally fit. That is Mrs. Malfoy." 

"But...but," Harry spluttered, "that's impossible. I've stayed with the Dursleys my whole life! Sirius wasn't my guardian! _He_ didn't even PUT ME THERE!" 

Dumbledore winced, while Narcissa looked scandalised by Harry's shouting. The Headmaster reached under his half-moon spectacles to rub at his eyes. "Yes, that is because you were temporarily placed in my care while Sirius was in Azkaban. I sent you to live with your relatives when I still believed Sirius dangerous, and petitioned for guardianship. It was granted to me, and with the Dursleys you remained." 

Narcissa and Draco had remained unusually quiet throughout this. A glance next to him revealed horror on Draco's face, and on his other side, a sort of snobbish amusement written on Narcissa's. 

Like this was a _joke_! A joke on _him_. Harry balled his hands into fists, until a thought suddenly popped into his head. 

"Tonks!" he shouted suddenly, producing a visible shudder from Narcissa. _Good,_ thought Harry viciously. _Serves the bitch right._ "Her mother," Harry pressed on excitedly. "She's Sirius's cousin, too! He told me...Tonks told me, too. And she's older...than...than _her_." He glared at Narcissa, undisguised hatred on his face. That _bitch_ had got Sirius killed; Kreacher had gone to _her_. Like _hell_ , he was her family. 

"We tried that, Harry," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "But when Andromeda married Ted Tonks, she renounced the Black name. Officially, through blood oath. She's no longer any more a Black than I am, and by extension, neither is her daughter." 

The amusement on Narcissa's face grew as Harry sensed Draco growing more and more agitated beside him, agitation that finally burbled over in an outburst that rivalled Harry's. "I won't have _him_ for a brother," Draco shouted. " _I_ am the only Malfoy heir." 

"Oh, Draco," Narcissa breathed, watching her son indulgently, "of course you are. Harry will be no brother to you. We are only responsible for his safety...and his education...until his eighteenth birthday. I have only one son, and that will not change. Neither your father, nor I are interested in such a thing." 

"His father," Harry interrupted again, sounding more hysterical, desperate for anything, _anything_ , that would get him out of this situation. " _He's_ a criminal. He's in _Azkaban_! They can't _possibly_ be fit!" 

Narcissa stood then, smoothing her elegant, wrinkle-free robes. "I'd ask you not to speak of my husband that way. He has been cleared of all misdoings, and has reclaimed his title as master of the house. Therefore, he will be, as my husband, and owner of my possessions --" 

And, Lord, wasn't _that_ as archaic as the rest of this ridiculous, unfathomable situation. Wives and children as property. Harry...belonging...to Lucius Malfoy as though he was some sort of pet. He was going to vomit. 

"-- in charge of my ward, as well. And, Harry, Mr. Malfoy is _quite_ interested in you." 

"I bet," Harry spat, sickened. He turned, and headed for the stairwell, planning on making a break for it before this went any further, but a spell hit him from behind, slowing his pace, a sudden grogginess overwhelming him. He felt as though he was back in Snape's lecture -- and, _oh_ , how he longed to be, something he'd never thought he'd _ever_ think. Ever. Futilely, Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the sensation that his head was suspended in viscous air. 

"Professor Dumbledore, I will be collecting my son and my ward and leaving now." 

"Harry," Dumbledore boomed, ignoring Narcissa, his tone laced with the slightest desperation, "we'll find something, I promise you. Please...hold out. Hold out as best you can." 

Harry managed a gurgle, slumping to the floor. 

Just before blackness took over, he heard Draco ask excitedly, "Father's been released? He'll be home for Christmas?" 

His eyelids dragged down as though each had a tiny lead weight attached. 

"Never underestimate your father's influence, nor the ability of the Ministry to do what is...right," Harry dimly heard Narcissa reply. "Daddy's home." 

Everything went black. 

***

Harry woke up in his bed. 

No, he amended a second later, he woke up in _a_ bed. A four-poster, deliberately done-up to look like his bed in Gryffindor Tower -- red curtains, gold sashes, and oh, merry little holly wreaths, and wasn't _that_ festive? His head felt swimmy, and was pounding violently, a steady rush of blood with a _th-thump-uh-thump-thump_ tympani accompaniment. 

That grogginess wasn't enough to fool him into thinking this was his bed, though. Too big, for one, too quiet, for another, devoid of Ron and Neville's snores, and Seamus's habit of revealing his sexual conquests by muttering in his sleep. The sun exposure was all wrong for a third, filtering in from a completely different direction. However, the biggest giveaway, thought Harry as he tried to shift so his tie wouldn't strangle him, was the fact that he was tied spread-eagled to the bed. 

That wasn't normal at all. 

All in all, he felt...okay, that thick, semi-conscious feeling overriding the massive headache, and waves of nausea. Blackness danced at the edge of his vision as Harry began to let sleep -- or was it unconsciousness, and furthermore, did it really matter? -- overtake him again. 

"It is too late in the day for a boy your age to be lolling about in bed," said a deep, even voice, startling Harry, and causing him to sit bolt upright, only to remember too late that he was _tied_ to the _bed_. Harry heard an amused chuckle, not unkind, and, with effort, managed to turn his head in the direction of the noise. From this distance, he could make out a fuzzy, person-shaped figure. 

_Oh._

Harry was missing his glasses, it seemed. Harry was missing his glasses, and he was tied to a bed. Harry was missing his glasses, and he was tied to a bed with no way of getting at his wand as he fought unconsciousness. 

The direness of his situation finally started to dawn on him, bringing with it bits and pieces of a conversation that had occurred in Dumbledore's office...that day? The day before? Harry wasn't sure. 

"Where 'm I?" Harry slurred, figuring he had nothing to lose. If the mystery man wanted to hurt him, he could easily do so with Harry in such a vulnerable position. 

"Harry, don't you know?" asked the man, obviously feigning concern, though careless enough not to cover the amusement evident in his tone. The blurry person stood, striding closer to the bed, and bent over Harry's body until he came into focus again. Harry let out a gasp of recognition, and writhed frantically, trying to shed his bonds. "You're in your rooms at Malfoy Manor." 

Lucius Malfoy settled on the edge of the bed, the mattress descending a few inches, forcing Harry's body to roll in Lucius's direction. The bile rose in Harry's throat again; he had to get out of here...somehow. 

As though reading his mind, Lucius said, "Do forgive the restraints, but your reputation for unpredictability precedes you. I don't expect that to be a problem for long. I'm sure Narcissa has informed you that I will be making the decisions regarding your education from now on?" Lucius's voice was smooth, ice cold. Actually, ice wasn't exactly right because Harry couldn't imagine anything about Lucius Malfoy _melting_. Marble, perhaps. Or steel. He shivered involuntarily. "I prefer a hands-on approach to things, and prefer that all hands present be quite free. Though you do look rather...appealing this way." He tugged loosely on the end of Harry's tie. 

"Don't touch me, you pervert," Harry spat, feeling some of his fight return. Anger and adrenaline had cleared his mind of some of the spell's effects. Spell...Harry remembered the one Narcissa had aimed at his back, not knowing any one spell that could have inflicted this much damage to his concentration levels, especially not one she'd dare perform in Dumbledore's presence. He must have been drugged, too. 

He was fucked. 

"Manners, Mr. Potter," Lucius drawled, then continued on as though he hadn't been interrupted at all. "Now, I know it's quite late in life to be instilling the tenets of proper behaviour, but I am responsible for you, and --" Here, Lucius smiled, cruel, twisted, gleaming like a glint of light off a knife's edge. "-- you will learn." 

He was so fucked. 

Lucius stood then, smoothing robes that didn't need it, and Christ, did _all_ Malfoys do that? Was that the kind of thing Harry would be expected to learn? He'd sooner gouge out his eyes. 

"The house-elves will soon be in to assist you with breakfast, and morning ablutions. Don't worry, Harry," Lucius said, framing the doorway, "I will return." 

He let the door shut quietly behind him, and Harry let out a tiny sigh, his body losing the slightest bit of tension he'd been holding, though to his horror, he realised he was shaking badly. Harry stared up at the canopy, which no longer appeared to be Gryffindor red, but a red as dark as blood. He tugged at the restraints again, the leather cuffs digging into his wrists just enough to be painful, but they didn't give, not even a little. 

Oh, he was so _fucked._

***

Receiving a sponge bath from a house-elf while tied to a bed went right on the list of Things Harry Never Wanted to Happen Again, a list that seemed to be growing longer by the second. Apparently, according to Fondi, Lucius had requested that Harry "be staying in his school things because Young Master Harry Potter be having a lesson today." 

Lucius's words about preferring a hands-on approach echoed in his head; he really wished he had a more concrete idea of what he was dealing with. 

He raised a knee protectively, wincing as it stretched the cord taut. On the other hand, maybe he didn't. 

There was a knock at the door then. Harry hoped with all his being that it was Fondi, come to give him another bath, or failing that, ready to offer that bedpan again. 

It wasn't. 

"Well, well." Lucius shut the door, and the soft click it made sounded louder to Harry's ears than any slam could have. "You've certainly cleaned up nicely." 

Harry didn't reply, staring sullenly at the underside of the canopy. 

Lucius made a _tch_ noise. "When someone compliments you, you thank them." 

Silence. 

Lucius was on the bed in a flash leaning over Harry in a manner that could only be interpreted as a threat. "Mr. Potter, you _will_ do as I say, and if you don't, I _will_ punish you." He grabbed the knot of Harry's tie, choking him. "Are we clear?" 

Frantically, Harry nodded, gasping for air. Lucius immediately loosed his hold, though his hand stayed wrapped around the shift of silk. 

"You will address me as 'sir'." His grey eyes flashed. "This is not a request." 

"Fuck you," Harry spat. 

The grip around his tie tightened again, dragging him up slowly this time; Harry could do nothing to stop it, mouth guppying as his eyes bugged out. 

Lucius smiled. "I will fulfil your requests when you fulfil mine. Let's try this again." He let Harry drop back to the bed. 

Harry closed his eyes, and tugged hard on the restraints, anger and fear bursting white-hot in his chest. He didn't see any way out of this...not now, at least, possibly not ever. Dumbledore's plea that he hold on rattled around in his head, and though any confidence he once had in that man had long since withered and died, it was all he _had_. 

"Yes...sir," he said through gritted teeth. 

"A start." Then, to Harry's horror, Lucius straddled his hips, leaning over so far that his hair tickled the sides of Harry's face. "Now, for your request. Of course, since you've just twice defied me, not to mention the fact that _you_ are the reason I was in Azkaban, I'll be doing things my way. And, Mr. Potter... I like to take my time." 

Harry, scared, tried squirming away, but that only brought their hips in more firm alignment. Oh, this was not good at all. "I didn't request any --" 

"First lesson," Lucius said in a threatening whisper. "Always watch your words." 

Lucius loosened Harry's tie before he could say anything more, bending to suck hard on Harry's neck. 

Oh no, no, no, NO. This was _not_ happening. Couldn't be happening. Harry was not locked in Malfoy Manor, was not getting some twisted...lesson from Draco Malfoy's _father_ , it wasn't Sirius's fault that this was happening in the first place, and he most certainly wasn't getting _hard_ because Harry liked girls, not perverted men with _wives_ that were _in the house_ right _now_. He was still asleep; he had to be. This was some awful, fevered dream, and he was going to wake up in Snape's class at any minute. 

Before he knew what was happening, Harry tie was draped over his shoulders, the buttons of his shirt tugged open one by one. He gasped as fingers brushed skin that had never been touched by anyone not in the medical profession, and that Lucius had no right to, no matter what the daft Wizarding World had to say about it 

Waking up. Any minute. Harry waited, frozen in shock. 

Nothing happened. 

"Don't," he protested weakly, not having the leverage to throw Lucius off. 

Lucius chuckled, the sound rumbling against Harry's skin. "You don't understand, _Harry_." His name sounded obscene when Lucius said it. It made him completely sick to his stomach. "You are _mine_. My ward to do with whatever I see fit. And this --" He bit down on Harry's ear. "-- is exactly what I find fit." 

"What about Nar...Mrs. Malfoy?" Harry asked desperately, struggling again, only to feel something hot and throbbing against his hip. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck_. "You're married!" 

Another laugh, this one even lower pitched, more amused than the last. "Not that it is your concern, but we have worked out the…kinks. She's quite aware, and quite all right with all aspects of your discipline. Don't worry; Narcissa has her own pursuits. Marriage need not be a black and white thing." 

Harry swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to stop the hot prickling at the corners of his eyes. "I haven't...I don't _like_...I don't want..." "But you _will_ want. On my say so." Lucius slid his hand across Harry's chest, roughly tweaking one nipple. Harry gasped. 

"A lesser man might get drunk on those noises," said Lucius, nearly purring. 

He bit on Harry's shoulder, then licked a path across his chest to worry the same nipple with his mouth. Lucius sucked, and bit down, and pulled, and did things that defied description, causing Harry to gasp again, and cry out, and whimper. This was insane. Harry had had no idea that his nipples were so sensitive, or his skin, which felt like it might be burning as Lucius licked his way to the other nipple, giving that the same tender, torturous treatment. Harry felt a _need_ he'd never before experienced, his cock twitching and jumping with every tug to the nub. 

Lucius laughed again, and Harry instantly knew that sound would invade his dreams as Lucius had invaded his entire life. "I never would have guessed the Boy-Who-Lived would be so... _debauched_." 

Shivering, Harry dug his toes into the coverlet. "Why haven't you just killed me?" 

Lucius's hand went to his waistband then, and Harry struggled and tried pulling away. "Because I am responsible for your well-being until your eighteenth birthday, and I'd never get a chance to enjoy all _this_. There's so much for you to learn yet. Besides," the older man said, undoing the button and dragging down the zip, "I believe that honour already belongs to someone else." 

"Fuck you!" Harry thrashed about, knowing it fruitless, but _not caring_. Lucius's hand delved into his trousers, wrapping around his cock, making Harry groan so loudly it might have actually been a scream Did the difference even matter when he was trapped, and being jerked off by Lucius Fucking Malfoy, god damned _bastard_ , and oh my _God_ , don't stop doing that, but _no_ , this didn't, this couldn't, this didn't feel so good? 

"Your language is deplorable, Mr. Potter. It won't be for long." 

To Harry's dismay (if the accompanying wail was any indication), Lucius stopped abruptly, climbing off Harry's body and studying him thoughtfully. 

"You do look lovely like this." Lucius began undoing his own robes. 

"No..." Harry shut his eyes tightly. 

"Unacceptable, Harry. Look at me." 

Knowing what denial would have meant, Harry dragged his eyes open again, watching as Lucius undid a row of tiny buttons in a matter of seconds, graceful fingers flying down his chest, exposing an expanse of pale skin. The robes shrugged off, Lucius was left dressed only in knee-length pants of some...almost shiny material that Harry couldn't readily identify. 

Lucius was so much larger than Harry, with a broad chest, and a narrow waist and what seemed to be muscular thighs. Harry could also clearly see the outline of an erection trapped in his pants, making Harry want to do anything he could to sink straight through the floor. Anything, _anything_ had to be better than this. 

Fuck, he'd never done anything with anyone before. Harry wanted more than a teary kiss, he wanted a chance to kiss a girl for real, or hell, feel a breast, or anything that didn't mean sex was going to be ruined for him like everything else. 

Not that that caused his erection to flag. He hated his body so much right now. He didn't want this, no matter _what_ his traitorous prick seemed to think. Oh God, oh God, he _so_ didn't want this to happen. 

"Harry --" 

"Stop saying my name!" Harry said forcefully. 

"You do not give orders. I _was_ going to release your legs, but I suppose a day or two in this position will teach you some manners, finally. Did you know there are charms that can prolong arousal for _weeks_?" Lucius waited for Harry's response, grey eyes boring through his skull. 

Terrified of being this painfully turned on for days, Harry bit his lip and gritted his teeth again. "Sorry. Sir," he added, almost as an afterthought. _Sorry you're such a bastard._

Lucius's face relaxed, making him no less imposing. Harry swallowed hard. "Much better." He touched each cuff surrounding Harry's ankles, and they promptly disappeared into nothingness. At first, Harry thought it was a good thing, until Lucius began tugging down his trousers and pants, leaving him completely exposed, except for his open shirt, and white socks, which somehow, was _worse_ than being completely naked. He wasn't sure why that was, but it was definitely true. 

Then, for what felt like an eternity, Lucius stared at Harry, seemingly relishing the opportunity to take in every square inch of exposed skin. It was...sick. Obscene. And incredibly arousing, Harry realised, dismayed, as his cock twitched and jumped, a drop of pre-come gathering at the head. 

Lucius smiled, and licked his lips. 

"Mr. Potter," he said, definitely purring this time, though Harry noticed he was back to being Mr. Potter, "you look good enough to eat." Then, defying all logic, Lucius Malfoy -- Death Eater, former Azkaban inmate, father to Harry's biggest school nuisance, and Voldemort's right-hand man -- bent his head and sucked Harry Potter's cock into his mouth. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Harry gasped, regretting letting the words escape instantly. 

It did not feel good, it did not feel good, all that warmth and wetness surrounding his heated length. He did not want Lucius to keep up that harsh suction, didn't want that tongue to drag across the vein throbbing there, or swirling around the head. He didn't want his hips to arch into Lucius's mouth, didn't want to see his prick disappearing between pale lips that reddened and swelled more with every _updown_ motion, didn't want Lucius's hands coming up to hold his hips in place, didn't want Lucius to release his cock with a soft pop, and suck his balls into his mouth, one at a time. 

Harry didn't want to moan, or whimper, or feel wet tears begin to gather at the corners of his eyes. Didn't want to enjoy it. Didn't want to hate himself for enjoying it so much. 

Harry knew he was lying to himself. He just couldn't tell which parts were the truth. 

Lucius moved away far too soon, laying his much larger body atop Harry's, pressing him into the mattress. "Even more wanton than I expected." 

He captured Harry's lips before Harry had the presence of mind to stop him, brutally pushing his tongue between Harry's lips, exploring in such a way that, if it were possible, left Harry's mouth completely ravished. Lucius's tongue explored all of his mouth, stroking tongue against tongue, licked his palate, his teeth, and sucked on his lower lip for so long that Harry thought it had to have been bruised for sure. 

And, throughout, Harry whimpered, whined, and arched his hips, trying to get his aching cock more contact. 

Lucius finally released his mouth, and Harry did _not_ whimper, trying to chase his lips. "I must say," he said, smiling cruelly and leaning back on his haunches, "this has been more pleasant than I had even expected." 

" _Bastard_ ," Harry spat. 

"Temper, temper, Mr. Potter. I can always restrain your legs again." 

Harry didn't reply. 

"So I thought." Lucius began undoing the ties at the waist of his old-fashioned pants, letting the garment slither down his thighs, whisper of fabric brushing against the pale hair on his legs. 

Finally faced with the reality of Lucius's erect cock so close, so exposed, Harry's eyes widened -- comically, even, he might say, had he found any humour in the situation -- and he whimpered, though it wasn't with arousal. 

Terror, then. 

Okay, terror _and_ arousal. 

He was sixteen, for Christ's sake! The fact that he couldn't help it made Harry nauseated all over again. 

Lucius stretched along Harry's body, tugging the cord connecting Harry's wrist to the bedpost, magically giving the bond more slack. He pulled Harry's body close to his, kissing him as thoroughly as he had minutes earlier. Those kisses were possibly doing Harry more damage than the rest of it combined. 

_Oh._ Until _now_. 

Without Harry noticing, Lucius had worked a hand between their bodies, gripping Harry's spit-slick cock, and holding it tightly -- almost painfully -- against his own throbbing flesh. The obviously experienced hands were stroking his cock, and turning him into a sweaty, gasping mess again. Harry's back arched as he thrust into Lucius's hand, the press of another swollen prick against his simply too much for his body to take, too much information to process. 

Considering Harry was still stuck on his body's first traitorous response to Lucius's hands and mouth, this wasn't really surprising. 

"Harry," Lucius murmured against his lips, "I'm looking forward to making you fall apart." He slid his thumb over the head of Harry's cock, forcing a needy gurgle from the back of Harry's throat, and increased his pace on their joined cocks. 

Desperate, Harry tried to keep control over his body, and watched Lucius, still in disbelief over the whole awful situation. Lucius's eyes were darkened with lust, his lips slightly kiss-swollen and red, but without that, he might have been reading the _Prophet_ , or discussing the weather, while Harry shook, and gasped, and whined, and writhed, and could feel his balls drawing up close to his body. 

"I c--can't!" Harry cried out. "So..." 

"You are not to come until you've been given permission." 

Harry cried out, feeling like a deflated balloon, as Lucius's pace suddenly slowed, slowed to a maddening pace, so slow that he felt like he wanted to _die_ , but he still wanted to come, wanted to come so much, so badly. " _Please_ ," he begged. "Please what?" Lucius's smile was back, looking even more nasty and smug than it had before. The grip tightened, and Lucius let out a deep moan. "Did you want to plead for permission? Do so, Harry. Beg me, and I may allow it." 

"God. Uhm, please... please, _sir_ ," he moaned, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. "I want to-- to come. Let me, sir." 

Then, Lucius did something completely unexpected. He rolled Harry partway to his back and gripped the base of Harry's cock, stretching Harry's foreskin over the head of his cock with his other hand, then pumped furiously on the base of Harry's cock, rubbing the completely exposed heads of their cocks together. Harry's moans became almost animalistic, the tip of his cock almost getting too _much_ pleasure. 

"Come, Harry. Now." 

Harry cried out again, surging into Lucius's hand, tugging so hard on his restraints that had they not been magical, he would have pulled himself free. He came hard, hot burst after burst against the head of Lucius's prick, over elegant fingers, over both cocks, and fuck, it was too much, too much, too _much_. 

_Oh shit._

Cold reality washed over him, instantly pushing away the post-orgasmic haze. Lucius Malfoy had just brought him to helpless, needy orgasm, and Harry hadn't wanted it, had never dreamt it, didn't want it again, didn't want to be here, needed to escape, but it still _happened_. 

How had he let this happen? 

Fingers were being inserted roughly into his mouth, and he choked and spluttered on the salty-bitter taste of his own come against his tongue. He shuddered, wondering what the fuck Lucius expected of him. 

"Harry," said Lucius again, the slightest threat in his voice. "Suck." 

Making a face the entire time, Harry licked and sucked Lucius's fingers, cleaning them thoroughly, breathing a sigh of relief when the fingers were pulled out again. At least the ordeal was over. 

Lucius looked thoughtful. Harry was not happy about that look at _all_ ; he suddenly remembered that Lucius had not yet come. 

"Now, I think we may be ready to begin your second lesson..." 

Harry wailed. 

***

He counted days. He counted days, and he counted lessons. 

Things had got easier, he supposed. Easier, and more complicated. 

After two days, he'd been freed of the restraints, and allowed to take a bath that didn't include a sponge-happy house-elf. 

After four days, Lucius brought him books. 

After five days, his glasses reappeared on his bedside table, which really made the books more useful. 

After a week, he was permitted to explore his wing of the Manor, supervised by Fondi. 

Two days after that, unsupervised. 

After two weeks, he was allowed an (already-opened) owl from Dumbledore, outlining the steps they were taking in the Ministry to free him for good, followed by owls from his friends, and Lupin, and Tonks, and other Order members, all urging him to not lose hope. 

Harry found this very difficult, but he couldn't let that hope die. The only thing that kept him going was the -- sometimes wavering -- belief that Dumbledore was going to figure something out, and Harry would return to Gryffindor Tower, get Sirius back, defeat Voldemort, and have a normal life. He'd escaped from so many awful situations before; this was no different. It _couldn't_ be. 

His freedoms came with compromises, of course -- sacrifices he had to make in order to earn them. To start, he was locked in the house with no obvious means of escape, so any illusion of autonomy was just that. Harry couldn't Apparate, every Floo was charmed so that he'd be spit out in the same fireplace (this, apparently, was a very common charm used to keep small children from escaping onto the Floo Network, unchecked), and simply opening the front door and waltzing out was absolutely out of the question. There were so many hexes, and charms everywhere that he'd be lucky if he _touched_ the door without receiving great bodily harm, never mind escape altogether. And that was assuming he could even find the door in the first place. Malfoy Manor was more of a maze than even Hogwarts, and far more hostile. Harry understood this, even if he didn't like it. There wasn't much to understand. 

The other part was where the complications came in. 

Every good thing Harry got was a reward for a lesson. And Lucius was, as promised, a very thorough teacher. Whatever happened between them, Harry always protested first -- vehemently. The problem was, Lucius seemed to get off on that. The more 'no's that fell from his lips, the more insistent, demanding Lucius was, and he wouldn't hesitate to tease Harry mercilessly, bringing him to the edge of orgasm and back so many times that every brush of fingers on his skin would make him keen and arch and cry out and beg for release. 

The first time Lucius fucked him, fucked him face-down on the bed with his cock up Harry's arse, Harry had screamed for it. It hadn't been his idea, not hardly, and he hadn't wanted it, hadn't wanted sex to _be_ that, had wanted, expected so much more, but Lucius had made it perfectly clear that Harry wouldn't get to come until he agreed. Lucius had arrived just after breakfast, and didn't retire until sunset. He hadn't lied; Lucius Malfoy was a very patient man. 

That's how Harry earned his glasses. 

One good thing was Draco was nowhere in sight. He didn't know why, and he didn't really care. Maybe he wasn't allowed in this part of the Manor, or maybe he really didn't know where his father was keeping Harry. All Harry knew was he wouldn't be able to put up with the snide comments that would undoubtedly fall from Malfoy's lips if he knew that Harry was having sex with -- getting raped by -- his father every single day. 

Christmas holidays would soon end, and Draco would go back to Hogwarts, and then he wouldn't have to worry about _that_ minor inconvenience anymore. 

Dealing with the major ones was enough -- namely, the overwhelming hatred for Lucius Malfoy, mixed with a great deal of helpless lust that he didn't ever think he'd quite understand. It was horrible; he dreaded the door opening, dreaded finding Lucius on the other side, but he still climaxed every single time Lucius demanded it, usually several times over. 

It was horrible, and it was baffling, but at least Harry had been left mostly alone. 

So, when the request for his presence at breakfast was made, Harry hadn't been at all comfortable by the way his heart had lodged itself in his throat, nor the way his stomach plummeted to his knees. Fondi dragged him out of bed, gave him a robe that was new, and too tight, and scratchy, and didn't listen when Harry protested that he didn't have pants on, only shoved him out the door, and down the hall, and down three flights of stairs, and down another hall, muttering, "Master Lucius be wanting Young Master Harry at breakfast! Fondi be bringing him to Master Lucius now, or Fondi must iron his hands." 

Harry had mostly gone without complaint; he hated being punished by Lucius, but he could take it. When Fondi was punished because of _him_ , he hated it so much more. 

When Harry finally made his way to the dining room, he was surprised. He'd been expecting a giant, windowless room with a table that stretched from one end to the other, Lucius alone and waiting for him. Instead, the room was sunny and very nearly cosy, and the table wasn't _small_ , but it was reasonably-sized, and square. Lucius was there, of course, but his stomach dropped even lower when he saw Narcissa, and Draco each seated at a side, too. 

Fuck. Lucius expected him to play his part in a _family_ scene? Great, just perfect -- the head of the house, the beautiful trophy wife, the clone of his parents, and The Boy Who Got Fucked Nightly. How idyllic. 

Lucius, lips pressed tightly together, pointed to the free chair next to him, obviously expecting Harry to join them. Reluctantly, he shuffled into the room, sitting at the table with his hands folded on his lap. In an instant, three house-elves had brought him tea, eggs, bacon, and toast, but Harry couldn't even think of eating right now. When he felt Lucius's eyes on him, he grudgingly took a bite of toast. 

No one was talking. Lucius looked...pleased, actually, which was an equally as frightening expression as any other Harry had ever seen on his face. Possibly more so. Narcissa, surprisingly, seemed a bit bored. She nodded when Harry was seated, and greeted him with a curt "Good Morning," then returned to _The Daily Prophet_ as though this was perfectly normal. 

Harry supposed Lucius hadn't been lying about their arrangement. 

Draco, on the other hand, was glaring at him openly, pale face tinged with pink. He didn't seem any more concerned with eating than Harry did, and he kept shooting glances from Lucius to Harry, and then back again. Harry refused to look down, not wanting to give the prat the satisfaction, nor Lucius the notion that he'd been defeated by the "lessons". 

To Harry's relief, the mail arrived then, majestic-looking owls dropping off post for Lucius, Narcissa, and unexpectedly, one for Harry, too. He noticed that Lucius and Narcissa each bore one envelope identical to his own. 

It was from the Ministry. Eagerly, Harry tore into it, heart leaping as he read the words: 

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_An appeal for guardianship has been made on your behalf, asking that a custodial transfer from Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy change to joint custody between Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Mrs. Andromeda Tonks_ née _Black. The Wizengamot has scheduled a hearing for this appeal at 9 a.m. on the eighth of January. Your presence is required._

_For the purposes of this hearing, Professor Dumbledore will not be heading the proceedings as Chief Warlock because of the conflict of interest. A Chief Warlock will be appointed by the Ministry in his stead._

_Yours sincerely,  
Adrian Gudgeon  
Department of Magical Estate Conflict and Child Welfare  
Ministry of Magic_

"The eighth," Harry blurted, once his eyes stopped scanning the parchment wildly. "When is that? Tomorrow? When will we be leaving?" His head snapped up as he watched Lucius expectantly. 

"Mr. Potter, outbursts are _not_ permitted at the breakfast table." At breakfast, he wasn't 'Harry'. This wasn't lost on him. 

"I was just asking --" 

"And," Lucius continued, voice cold and deadly, "we do not interrupt when our elders are speaking. Come here." 

Harry froze in his seat. Did this mean Lucius was going to defy the Ministry? Was going to keep him here not only against his will, but against Wizarding law? Harry stared at him in disbelief. 

"Mr. Potter!" Lucius said, voice rising. "Come. Here." 

Swallowing hard, Harry pushed back his chair, and stood, shuffling over to Lucius's seat. He could feel Draco's eyes on him the entire time. 

"Lift your robes. Over my knee." 

"NO!" 

Draco's knife clattered to the table. Narcissa picked up her tea cup, and took a long draught, then replaced it, and read her mail. 

Hand flying out, Lucius yanked at the collar of Harry's robes, and pulled him down, hand at the top of his back, holding him in place. His other hand bunched the scratchy material to Harry's waist, leaving him with his arse in the air, flaccid cock caught between Lucius's thighs. Now, he understood why Fondi hadn't given him underpants; Lucius was _waiting_ for him to make some minor infraction. 

Fuck. 

" _Don't_!" shouted Harry, struggling to pull himself off, or roll off Lucius's lap, but Lucius's hand was holding him down firmly, and the table was lodged against his side. Lucius's hand connected with his backside, hard, forcing a gasp from Harry's mouth. 

"Stop it!" 

_Crack._

Lucius's hand came down again, harder this time, landing a blow at the fleshy part connecting arse and thigh. 

"F-- _fuck_!" Harry bit down on his lip. That _hurt_. Some metal stung his skin, and with revulsion, he recognised it as Lucius's wedding ring. Lucius never wore rings in Harry's bedroom, but of course he would when Narcissa was around. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Harry tried squirming, but found that only helped him rub his cock against the woollen material of Lucius's robes. With every slap to his arse, his face flushed as a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his skin, and his backside _burned_. 

Lucius shifted then, making Harry gasp. The move forced his thighs open, and let Harry feel the man's erection pressing into his hip. His own prick twitched at the recognition. God _damn_ it, he was as perverted as Lucius was. 

Lucius had no rhyme or reason to his blows, using erratic timing, and landing them on every part of his arse from the base of his spine to the backs of his thighs, coming close to his bollocks too many times to be comfortable. Harry's breathing was just as erratic as he tried to squirm away, biting his lips to prevent any moans from spilling out as he studied a place on the wooden floor. 

There was a rustle of paper. Lucius stilled for a moment, both hands holding Harry in place. 

Narcissa stood, then, which Harry knew by the scrape of wood against the floor. "Lovely breakfast," she said in bored tones. Fuck, was the woman _drunk_? "I'll see you all at dinner." 

He was expected to come to _dinner_ , after this? 

Her heels clacked along the floor, until Harry could no longer hear them. Draco had not moved, and Harry could hear his breathing, too, as erratic as his own. Fuck, the whole family was so messed up, Harry couldn't even process it. 

Once Narcissa was gone, Lucius began speaking again. "You will --" _Crack_ "-- learn --" _Smack._ "-- proper etiquette. Do you think I enjoy doing this?" 

_Yes!_ , he thought forcefully to himself. But Harry wisely kept his mouth shut, choosing to whimper instead. 

"I will not inflict any permanent damage on you, but I will make my lessons stick in whatever way possible. Do you understand that, Harry?" 

"Y… yes!" he shouted, humping against Lucius's thighs desperately as Lucius's hand came down again and again, making his arse burn and sting, and a long, low whine to emit from the back of his throat. 

"Good. Draco, go." Lucius's hand stopped suddenly again. 

"But...!" It was the first word Draco had uttered since Harry had been seated. He dared raise his head, seeing Draco as flushed, and sweaty as he thought he must have been. Pervert! 

"This is not your lesson, Draco." 

Quickly, Harry let his head drop again, feeling his brain shut down as he considered _those_ possible implications. This family was so _sick_. 

Lucius spoke again. "Leave." 

A pause. Then, a huff, and the same scrape of chair against wood, followed by footsteps stomping out of the room. 

Once Draco had gone, Lucius finally let Harry up, only to open his robes and expose his flushed cock, fully hard. "On your knees." 

Harry felt his face crumple, but he set his jaw again and knelt, knowing protests would get him nowhere, no matter how much he wanted to make them. Tomorrow, tomorrow, he would think about tomorrow. He dropped to his knees, and crawled between Lucius's thighs, stretching his lips over the erection, barely making it halfway before he couldn't take in anymore. 

He tried to wrap a hand around the base, but Lucius slapped it away. "Just your mouth, Harry." He thrust suddenly, forcing his cock down Harry's throat. 

Lucius didn't so much make him suck his cock as fuck his face. Harry was choking, and spluttering, trying to use his tongue to push against the heated skin, trying to relax his throat muscles, so he could swallow, but he was panicking, feeling tears form at the corner of his eyes, despite his furious attempts to stop them. 

He would not cry, he would not cry, he would not. Harry blinked, and blinked, until there was nothing there again. Tomorrow. It was his hearing. He just had to think on that. 

Lucius's hand was wrapped around the back of his throat as he slid between Harry's lips over and over, until Harry looked up, his red-rimmed eyes, terrified and wide, meeting Lucius's. The older man tossed his head back, then, curtain of blond hair shaking, and let out a low moan, shooting down Harry's throat. With no other choice, Harry swallowed it all, a seemingly never-ending pulse of hot liquid filling Harry's mouth, bitter against his tongue. 

After a moment, Lucius withdrew, looking down at Harry, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. Harry hated that expression. 

"We will leave promptly at 8. Fondi will lay out dress robes for you; I expect you to look presentable. Furthermore, you will not be permitted to come today, and don't you dare touch yourself. I _will_ know." 

Harry had no doubt about that. 

But tomorrow. He would get to go to his hearing. Despite his cock rubbing torturously against the inside of his robes, Harry barely cared that he'd get no relief. If anything, at least that assured Lucius wouldn't creep into his rooms later. 

Fondi appeared again to escort Harry back to his wing. It was a little weird when house-elves just showed up like that. 

"You may go, Harry," Lucius said dismissively. He nodded, stood, and walked toward the door, but Lucius only stared at him, and Fondi made no move to leave. 

Harry only barely stopped himself from sighing in exasperation. "Thank you...sir." 

***

Preparations in the morning went as expected, and all three Malfoys accompanied Harry to the Ministry, Draco looking sulky the entire time, looking from Harry to Lucius again. Harry rolled his eyes, unwilling to let a spoilt brat ruin his mood. 

When they got there, Harry wanted to run to Dumbledore, or Mrs. Weasley and Ron, who were there, all looking pale and drawn, but Lucius kept a hold on his collar, forcing him to sit up front with the Malfoys. Scowling, Harry did so. It would only be an hour, or so, and then he'd be free. 

The room they were in was completely different from the room where he'd nearly been expelled; this seemed more like a regular courtroom than something that doubled as a torture chamber. Harry decided to take that as a good sign. 

The Wizengamot arrived then, and Harry was so busy trying to see which members were familiar to him that he nearly missed the announcement the recording secretary made. "...in Albus Dumbledore's place, Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, will be leading the hearing..." 

_No._

Harry heard roaring in his ears, and all he could see was Lucius, watching him out of the corner of his cold, grey eyes. The fucking bastard was smirking. 

After that, the hearing went on with a horrifying predictability. Yes, the Malfoys wanted to retain custody, no, they didn't believe that Andromeda Tonks or Albus Dumbledore was a fit guardian. Witnesses testified about the Dursleys' treatment of Harry, about the Philosopher's Stone, the Basilisk, the Triwizard Tournament, and on and on, each making the case look grimmer. The claim that Andromeda was as much of a Black as Narcissa was waved away with the proof that she'd severed ties from her family under formal wizard's oath. 

Harry was shaking so badly, he wanted to get up and run off, but he found he couldn't move, and worse, when Harry tried to protest, tried to tell them exactly what Lucius had been doing to him, he found he couldn't. He kept trying to speak, but no words would escape. Lucius's smirk grew as Harry began to panic. 

_Fucking bastard!_

Fudge stood, and tipped his bowler hat to Lucius. Lucius nodded back. "It is hereby the opinion of this court that it is in the best interests of Harry Potter to remain with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy until his eighteenth birthday, following already stated precedent from this court given in the contention of the Black estate. This court reaches the same decision it did. Case dismissed." 

"NO!" Harry suddenly cried out, his voice returning to him, but it was lost in the shuffle of chairs and the crowd dispersing. 

With a final desperate look at the Weasleys, and Dumbledore, he was rushed out of the courtroom, and back to Malfoy Manor. 

***

That night, he studied the canopy that he'd now been staring at for sixteen days. Sixteen days down, only five-hundred sixty-nine left to go. 

No. Harry refused to give up, refused to give Lucius the satisfaction. He'd find a way out. 

He had to. 

The door opened, and predictably, it was Lucius. Harry stared at him sullenly, unmitigated hatred plain on his face. He only had one question: "Why?" 

"Because I could." In the dark, Lucius's teeth gleamed, making Harry shiver, especially since he knew Lucius was telling the truth. "You imprisoned _me_ , isn't it only fair that I also had that opportunity? You won't be returning to Hogwarts." 

Harry had already figured that out. 

"No," Lucius continued threateningly, "they were a terrible influence on you -- Muggle-lovers and Mudbloods, defying your superiors to run off, and perform acts of incredible stupidity -- or bravery, as you might call it. It's much better that you continue your lessons with me." 

"I hate you." 

"I don't particularly care." More truths. "Now, I've a special lesson planned for tonight. A...combination of things taught, if you will." Lucius glanced toward the doorway. "Draco?" 

Harry sat up on the bed. " _No._ " 

"Son, you've come so far these past few weeks," said Lucius, ignoring Harry completely. "I'm going to grant your wish to...assist me in Harry's progress. The initiative was good, but let's see if you've _really_ learned what it is to be a Malfoy." 

Harry stood then, trying to run. He didn't _care_ what hexes were in place, he'd _make_ his way out, even without his wand. Lucius stopped him -- not even with a spell, simply tripped him, sending Harry sprawling at Draco's feet. Groaning, he raised his head, only to find Draco looking down on his prone form with a twisted smirk, matching his father's expression. 

"That's a good place to start, Potter. Boots first." 

Lucius gave a throaty chuckle that made Harry even sicker to his stomach than he already had been. 

"I see leadership runs in the family. That's my boy." 

Fuck. 


End file.
